#rp:ff

Silva frowns, glancing down at the reptilian head quietly resting by his side. The cyberterrorist’s usually highly expressive face has gone still. Blank.

“Are you truly satisfied, my sweet?”

The Rex Pet cannot talk in the language of humans, but between Silva and his Queen, there really didn’t need to be any verbal communication for the pair to understand the other intimately. Silva slides a hand from his coat pocket, bringing it to rest on the top of his dinosaur’s head. His girl is growing fast. Fed on a daily diet of gunmen and bodyguards who failed to impress. Although his hand rests firmly on the top of her 5 foot long scaled head, fingers sliding between the horns and other facial ornaments, Silva’s mind is quite clearly elsewhere.

Pulling out a smart-phone from his other pocket, he browses through his collection of half-written, virus-infected emails. There’s also an app that lets him track all his foot soldiers and other assets in their wanderings about the globe: on mission or otherwise back at the Base. The closest in Silva’s family took a Mark burnt onto their chests, barred lines demonstrating their Rank. All others took the latest in surveillance slipped under their skin. Iolai’s collar contains such a tracker.

He wonders how that Fae is getting on, out there on her own. Floating without purpose on his Island. Enjoying her freedom, presumably. Oh, yes. He’d given her fresh air. Vast swathes of beaches and crashing waves and a veritable jungle of tangled, unkempt foliage to explore. Exactly as the pretty female had asked for. The spoilt child had everything she wanted, no? Silva is aware his Island could be… more. For a being as whimsical as Iolai, the cyberterrorist might have thought the woodland spirit would have taken full advantage of the chance to re-make his Kingdom.

For behind the mountain at the centre of the Island there are the ancient garden slopes. Fresh earth just waiting to be cultivated. Old Japanese  flowers and cherry blossoms that need a gentle hand. All in ruin and disrepair, but such promise. The architecture of the Island lends itself to be reorganised in such a way. Gun turrets to be placed in the windows of worn-down, dusty skyscrapers. And baskets of flowers and other natural foliage to hang over the top to hide them.Besides the outlying neglected buildings with their empty stables, there is a training ground for the new recruits to practise their skills. The airstrip with its two planes, including Silva’s private  jet, sits waiting. 

Perhaps the Faerie is simply not observant enough. Perhaps she hasn’t taken the care to acquaint herself properly with the sleeping beauty of the place that is now her home. Not that this unduly concerns Silva. He’s happy that his home remains a desolation. Everything came to dust eventually.

However, children that show no interest in their Father rarely received attention from Him in return.

Silva hums  in contemplation. From their concrete seat near the top of the Island, the wind carries a faint chill. The Rex Pet senses his underlying unease. She lifts her snout up from the ground and presses her mouth gently across his jawline. It’s a gentling act the beast has performed before. 

The blond smiles, lips pulling back to reveal the fake, plastic teeth of his own mouth. His girl does care for him.